(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Chapter 12
That familiar sensation of warmth thickly pumping into my cold veins was
the first thing I felt as consciousness slowly flooded into me. My joints
creaked and cracked, my limbs ached, and countless spots along my flesh
itched as the wounds knit shut. The final stages of my unnatural healing
would no doubt leave more scars.
Then there was the chill of metal against my back, the rank stench of blood,
flesh, and preserving fluid. There was the cold air of the room that kissed my
now-warming skin.
Gods damn it. Back in the Mortuary.
“Hey, chief,” a familiar voice piped up. Relief washed through me that Morte
was still here. Relief, then memory, then anger.
“Morte, I told you to run. You could’ve been killed!” I croaked. I spat out the
last vestiges of congealed blood.
Morte chuckled, “Hey, guess I’m a fighter after all. A fantastic fighter, really.
I stood my ground, you know, there were thirty of those filthy thugs around
me, and you were yelling something, trying to shoo me away. But no! ‘I’ll
save you, chief! I never abandon a friend!’ You should’ve seen it. I dove into
the crowd and bit off their heads one by one, and...”
I put a hand up to stop him, feeling those itching spots across my body,
“Ugh, what happened after I went down?”
“Oh, I ran like the Lady was after my ass. When I came back it looked like
they were too pissed off about the guys we delivered to the Dusties to really
loot you. They just stabbed you a bunch of times.”
“That explains a few things,” I grunted, still aching from the hundred or so
wounds, and slid off the slab slowly.
“Yeah, but I’ve got some bad news, Chief. I snuck around a bit, and it looks
like our old blood-eyed pal is gone. And frankly, I don’t quite trust the other
Dusties.”
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